The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
And the storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me— I will not, cannot go.

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.

Oh sky, without me, do not change,
Oh moon, without me, do not shine;
Oh earth, without me, do not grow,
Oh time, without me, do not go.

...Oh, you cannot go, without me.

Now the towns and forests, highways and plains,
fall back in circles like an emptying drain.
And I won't come round this way again,
where the lonely wind abides,
and you will not take my heart, alive.

I bear the dungeon within me; within me is winter, ice, and despair; I have darkness in my soul.

All night long like a moving stain,
(The trees are breaking, my son,)
The black ghost wanders his house of pain.
There is blood where his hand has lain.

It is wrong he should wear a chain.
(The sky is falling, my son.)

I would not live alway: I ask not to stay
Where storm after storm rises dark o’er the way.

Earth all one tomb lies round me, Domed with an iron sky: And God Himself in His power, God cannot save me! I cry.

Oh sky, without me, do not change,
Oh moon, without me, do not shine;
Oh earth, without me, do not grow,
Oh time, without me, do not go.

Others give you the name of Love,
And me the sultan of that love.
Higher than such illusions,
Oh, you cannot go, without me.

Strain

IT is late
And the clock is striking thin hours,
But sleep has become a terror to me,
Lest I wake in the night
Bewildered,
And stretching out my arms to comfort myself with you,
Clasp instead the cold body of the darkness.
All night it will hunger over me,
And push and undulate against me,
Breathing into my mouth
And passing long fingers through my drifting hair.
Only the dawn can loose me from it,
And the gray streaks of morning melt it from my side.
Bring many candles,
Though they stab my tired brain
And hurt it.
For I am afraid of the twining of the darkness
And dare not sleep.

I have nowhere to go. The swift satellites show The clock of my whole being is slow.

The shadow of a dove Falls on the cote, the trees are filled with wings; And down the valley through the crying trees
The body of the darker storm flies; brings With its new air the breath of sunken seas And slender tenuous thunder . . . But I wait . . . Wait for the mists and for the blacker rain — Heavier winds that stir the veil of fate, Happier winds that pile her hair; Again They tear me, teach me, strew the heavy air Upon me, winds that I know, and storm.